Based on a silent movie in which Sam and Max struggle to say a lot of long words.

"I'm boooooooooored Sam!"

Sam glanced over to his little buddy, who was absently chewing on a computer screen, sparking every now and again when his dagger-like teeth jabbed through a wire.

"True Max, the war room doesn't have the same appeal it did in the days of the Dakota wars, but don't worry," he patted Max on the head, jumping and grimacing when he got a small electric shock. Max grinned at him. "It's only a matter of the time until the free world is back in the throes of battle!"

"Yeah, and I can deal swift, robotic justice!" Max frowned, "throes?!?"

Sam frowned too. "Yeah, throes." Max just shrugged and jumped down from the desk. Sam watched Max's ears (the only parts of him visible) go round the table and up to another computer. "Watcha up to little buddy?" Max jumped up onto a chair, then staggered slightly as it spun round, caught his balance and grinned at the glowing screen in front of him. Sam couldn't help but notice how much creepier Max's saw blade grin was with an eerie green glow added, kind of like a radioactive chainsaw, but more dangerous, and scarier. What was he doing anyway?

Max was hammering away at the keyboard, he seemed to know what he was doing, but from what Sam could see he was just hitting random letters. The enter key, and then Max was scowling.

"Ta-you-mat, tor-mata, grr," he thumped the keyboard in frustration. He turned to Sam and pointed an accusatory finger at the screen, "Sam! Read this!" Sam took a glance.

"Why Max, that's -whenuakitanatahu!* A hill in Hawke's Bay, New Zealand!" Max must've stumbled across it with his haphazard jabbing. at the keyboard. He turned the hyperkinetic rabbity-thing, "what about it?"

"It must die!"

"What, why?" Max was moving towards a console with some very important looking buttons. This worried Sam, some far, moralistic corner of his brain was jabbing the rest of it and telling it that it really shouldn't be letting Max near important-looking things.

"Damn Australians think they're better than us with their long names and their hawks and their relatively peaceful lifestyles!"

Sam frowned. "Australians? No Max-" he stopped, Max was grinning at a big, red button, the sort he didn't really want Max near. Well, not unless something big and destructive was pointed at the local health food store. Damn grocers kept trying to give him free tofu samples, what were they trying to do, poison him?

"You said I should let out my anger Sam!" Well, he had, he'd meant it in a slightly less destructive way, but…what the heck, Max was president! What was the worst that was gonna happen…well, to them anyway? Sam moved to get a better view. Max was squinting at the screen, Sam swore that Max couldn't see what he was looking at half the time, but that trip down to the opticians hadn't ended well, it had taken hours for the surgeons to get that chart out of the poor guy's spleen.

"Look Sam, tourists!"

Sam could just make out the two shorts-clad people perched on top of the hill. "They're like bright glowing targets! I'll call that one Rincewind, and that one Twoflower!" Max had gotten into a weird habit of naming things he was about to maim, he'd spent a good hour convincing a bank robber that his name really was Stacey last week. Sam shook his head and noticed a big flashing cross-hair on the screen.

Max pointed up, "in the name of all things corrupt and unjust, I declare war on Tatawak- Tatamata, Tomato, whatever." And with that the Washington monument was on a beeline for the south, blowing up the grassy landscape on the screen. When the dust cleared, the two bright dots were still on the screen, one looked to be taking pictures while the other seemed to be looking for somewhere to run.

"Ya know Max, I just had a thought. The New Zealand government probably isn't gonna be all that thrilled that you destroyed their tongue-twisting tourist trap."

Max shrugged. "At least ** will be happy."

Sam stared at him, then decided to just drop it for the sake of what was left of his sanity. Max jumped down. "Well, I'm bored again now." He hopped back up to the other sparking computer and resumed his chewing. There was a weird moment of silence, Sam looked at Max. "Hey Max?"

"Wahh, Souhm?" Max replied through a mouthful of computer screen.

"Do you get the feeling something's about to happen?"

Max swallowed, Sam cringed a bit at the crunching sound.

"I always have an almost debilitating sense of foreboding and dread Sam!" He declared happily. The doors suddenly swung open, revealing row upon row of seemingly identical suit-wearing men. Sam and Max were hoisted up into the air and carried out of the room.

"Max, I get the gut-wrenching feeling this has something to do with your careless destruction of a large section of a foreign country."

"I think we're finally going back to the mother ship Sam!"

Sam looked round at the sea of sunglasses, then got an idea. "Hey Superball! Are you here?" Someone in the distance a horse whinnied.

"Right here Sir." Sam jumped at the voice over his right shoulder, had he been there the whole time?

"Oh, yeah, good, uhm, where are we going?"

"BACK TO OUR FUZZY BRETHEN OF THE STAAAAAAARS!" Came Max's shriek in the background, Sam ignored it.

"We're moving the president to an area of security Sir. It seems New Zealand are unhappy with losing their hill ."

"Well, who cares? It's New Zealand, what can they do?"

"You'd be surprised how dangerous a country full of pissed off ex-record holders can be Sir." Sam blinked, swearing didn't sound right coming from Superball.

"Record holders?"

"Longest place name in the world ."

"Oh…" Sam trailed off, he wasn't really sure what to say.

"Nothing to worry about Sir, the peace negotiators have been dispatched, as per the president's orders."

"I DIDN'T GIVE NO DAMN ORDERS! SEND THE BATTLE ROBOTS! UNLEASH MY UNHOLY ARMY OF HELL SPAWN!"

"I'm Sorry Sir, but you traded control of military affairs over to a small team of Californian hippies in exchange for their word that they'd, I believe you said 'put some damn pants on.' Sam could hear Max growling in the distance.

"Nudity should be left to small, fluffy mammals!" He turned to Sam, "that means you too!" Sam looked affronted.

"I already told you Max, it's not customary to actually wear clothes in the bath."

"The ways of your uncivilised kind disgust me Sam!"

"Do you actually EVER bathe Max?"

"Only in the BLOOD OF MY ENEMIES!"

Sam decided further conversation with Max wasn't going anywhere, and he still hadn't figured out where they were going. He tried to look past the marching crowd of suits, he couldn't really see anything, but he couldn't hear any gunshots in the background, and the air didn't smell of expired hotdogs and sewage, they must've left the city.

"Are we theeeeeeeeeeere yeeeeeet?" It'd only been ten minutes and Max was already getting fidgety.

"Almost there Sir, a buffet table will be waiting on your arrival as per your request." Max's unpopular law declaring that a buffet table would be ready whenever he arrived anywhere was unpopular, and Bosco hadn't been happy when the secret service had burst into his store brandishing Belcher's Square Sausages and Granny Maniac Candy***, but Sam seemed infinitely more cheerful at the prospect of leaving the office nowadays.

"Goody!"

The secure area they'd been moved to hadn't really been what Sam expected. He'd imagined some sort of presidential bunker or heavily-guarded fortress out in the back lands, but to be honest, it looked more like coffee house. Max didn't look all that happy.

"What the hell? Where are my turrets, my 50-foot bodyguards, my cult of undead-ninjas?!?"

"I'm sorry Sir, but we felt it was safer to bring you to a less obvious destination."

Sam looked around. "Isn't this that place out of F.R.I.E.N.D.S?" He'd never really been a fan, but he'd joined in with the uproar when it was cancelled. Protest marches at TV studios were always fun when all it took were a few matches and cattle prod to start a full-scale riot.

"No Sir, this is a completely different coffee house in a classified location."

Sam smelled the air, it definitely smelt of New York. He glanced out the window, he was pretty sure that was Central Park, and he was even more sure that that sign on the window said 'Central Perk.'

"Are you su-"

"Absolutely sure Sir, you are mistaken."

Sam opened his mouth to argue again, but a glare from Superball made him decide it was better to find somewhere else to be. He saw that Max was already at the buffet table and he hadn't eaten in, hell, it must've been half an hour now! He had to dodge a few stray Plopp Candy bars and flying tacos, but he eventually reached the table with only a few splodges of mustard on his suit.

"Hey Max, seen any puppy treats around? I've in the mood for something weird-smelling and worryingly unidentifiable."

"I don't think so, but I'm pretty sure there's some of your granny's old stroganoff down there."

Sam felt his gut churn. "I think I'll pass little pal." Even he couldn't stomach that stuff. He helped himself to some of the safer looking desserts, he was even sure one of them had custard on it, but that could've just been some of that weird Baaji-mustard stuff he'd eaten on a plane once.****

It seemed most of the suits had left now, but it was still pretty busy. Sam was even sure that he recognised some of the faces. "Hey Max, I think that's Bas Jan Ader."

"Who?"

Sam grimaced in disgust as he was showered in crumbs. "A Dutch artist, he went missing in 1942. He must've been a good artist because he made lots of things that make people confused and miserable when they look at them. He even made a non-sensical short film in black and white with lots of people crying."

"I don't get art, it makes no sense."

Sam thought about this. "I think that's what makes it art." He was pretty sure about this, after all, art never makes sense right? It's the point. He decided to leave Max to his food and go have a conversation with the emo artist guy.

"Hey, aren't you Bas Jan Ader? I thought you went lost at sea years ago!" The man at the table gave him a chilling glare, or it might have been chilling if didn't have cappuccino foam all over his face.

"Yes."

Sam waited, he didn't say anything else.

"Uhm, well, what was up with that?" That didn't really sound like something he'd say but he couldn't think of anything more appropriate.

"Siiiiiiiigh," Sam thought it was weird he'd actually said it instead of doing it, "yes, I was planning to escape my life of torment to a tropical paradise with Jimmy Hoffa, but we got separated somewhere in the Atlantic."

"Oh you know Jimmy? We met him on Easter Island, we kind of, well, not killed him, more 'erased him from existence.'"

"He's far luckier than me, siiiiiiiiigh, I'm forever trapped here in this coffee shop. I should've stayed in the Netherlands, at least the coffee houses there had copious amounts of weed."

Sam suddenly drew a connection to Ader's art. "Well, I'm getting in the way of your brooding, I'll leave you to it." God, what was with all the emos now, Jurgen was annoying but at least he was a bit lively, and he didn't approve of this drug habit, it wasn't kid-friendly. Hmm, what was he supposed to do now. Maybe he should actually have a coffee, he didn't actually have to drink it right? He could just sit with it and look sophisticated, or at least as sophisticated as a six-foot Irish Wolfhound in a baggy suit could. He should make sure Max didn't get his hands on any caffeine though, not after what had happened last time- wait, where was he?

The buffet table had been totally cleaned out, well, except that stroganoff (his poor grammy), but Max was nowhere to be seen. After checking under the table, in the fridge and in the coffee maker, Sam actually started to feel a bit of panic. He'd never actually lost Max before, hadn't even been away from for any longer than he could help. It was weird.

"Hey Max? Where are ya?" No answer, Superball was standing dutifully by the door, surely he'd know? It was his job to know. "Hey Superball, have you seen Max?" There was surprised scream from everyone in the café at the sudden and random crash of thunder outside.

"No Sir, is the president not at the buffet table?" Superball leaned to one side and observed the tattered remains of the buffet table. "Oh dear, this is terrible."

"I know! Max is missing!"

"No, I meant that someone seems to have eaten the stroganoff. I asked your dear old grandmother to make that especially."

Sam glanced back, and sure enough it had gone. "Never mind that, shouldn't you be looking for Max?"

"The call should be through soon."

Sam paused. "Call?" Sure enough there was a sudden ringing in the corner. Sam waited a couple of seconds, hoping that maybe Max would jump out of hiding and rush for the phone, but was just disappointed when he didn't. He saw that Ader was about to get up and answer and growled at him in warning before picking up the receiver himself.

"Commissioner?"

"Who in the name of the great holy kiwi is the commissioner?" The voice was quite slow and lazy and Sam found himself checking his watch just waiting for the end of the sentence, well checking his wrist, he didn't actually have a watch, he and Max had decided time-travel was complicated enough without having to read the year in Roman numerals.

"Uhm, never mind. Where's Max?" He tried to sound angry, but it was difficult to muster wrath when rubbing sleep out of your eyes.

"He is about to suffer long and horrible torment…" God what was with this guy? Didn't he realise how hard it was to concentrate on his threats when it took him so damn long to get them out? "…desecration of our prestigious title…" Ooooh, so it was about that. Seemed a lot of fuss, should've listened to Superball about those guys. "…Yank every single tooth out…" Oh wait, that was a threat against Max right? He really should be paying attention. "…bring us those items and he will be returned with his ears intact." Oh crap, he was finished.

"Uhm…could you repeat that?" There was silence on the other end of the line, then an exasperated sigh.

"Just be there at the White House alright?"

"Uhm, okay." The dial tone sounded as the other guy hung up. Well, that was, strange. It took him a moment of staring blankly at the receiver before he recovered his senses.

"Superball!" There was a crowd gathering at the window now, staring open-mouthed at the cloudless sky as it flashed with lightning. "We need to go to the White House and save Max!"

After a long and weird car journey back to the white house with Superball (Sam didn't like that he couldn't see his eyes under those shades) the two ran into the oval office. There were a few guys there, looking not so much menacing, but vaguely irritated as they brandished their guns. Max was tied up in his presidential chair, but he didn't seem too bothered and was quite happily making conversation with himself.

"And then Sam said, 'you crack me up little buddy!' And then- oh wait, hi Sam!" He tried to wave at Sam, but just ended up wriggling to the side a bit as his arms were confined to his sides. "These guys lured me away with tootsie rolls and Baby Ruths!" Sam put his hands on hips much like a disapproving mother.

"What've I told you about running off with strangers with candy?"

"Only if they don't have dodgy facial hair or a white van?"

Sam blinked. "Oh yeah, well okay then." He turned to the New Newlandish? Uhm, New Zealots? New Zealanders? Well, whatever they were, and gave them what he considered to be a fairly good glare. The short fat one at the end was the first to speak.

"Did you bring what we asked?"

Sam gave a sheepish grin. "Well, uhm, I didn't really catch what you were saying on the phone-"

"YOU DIDN'T BRING IT?"

"Well, not exact-"

"YOU FOOL! NOW YOUR CREEPY LITTLE FRIEND'S GONNA GET IT!"

Sam didn't look too bothered, and the guy looked a little thrown off. "Well, aren't you worried? Aren't you going to beg us to spare him? Offer yourself in his place?" Sam gave them his best (he'd been practising) I-know-something-you-don't-slash-now-would-be-a-good-time-to-start-running grin. The kidnappers gulped.

"Now why would I be worried?"

"Well, we-we'll kill your friend!" He didn't sound too sure of himself, Sam was quite proud of himself for actually being able to scare these guys, it didn't really have the same effect when he was dealing with the hardened criminals of New York. He looked at Max, he was gnawing on his foot and didn't seem too bothered by what was happening around him.

"Hey Max!" Max paused in his biting just as he'd almost got through a weird growth on the back of his foot.

"Yeah?"

"Got your video camera?"

"Always!" Somehow he pulled a video camera out from seemingly nowhere without having untying himself first, Sam marvelled at this display of physics-defiance. "Catch!" Sam caught the camera, which Max had apparently managed to throw to him and set it up. The rabbit-nappers looked at one another in confusion before turning back to Sam.

"What are you doing?"

Sam detected a hint of indignation, he almost felt sorry for ruining their big evil moment, but ultimately decided it was their own fault for being such terrible villains. "Just getting the camera ready for when you get your asses kicked back to New Zealand."

They definitely looked worried now, why was everything going so wrong? The short one decided to try take back control by making more empty threats at the strange rabbity-thing, but was met with an eyeful of missing lagomorph.

"Where's that fuzzy one gone?" The other two turned round, took in the situation and promptly started crying. There was the distant sound of flushing and the door to the war room opened. Max entered the office, brandishing several large and dangerous looking weapons, looking round at the room from crying men by his desk to Sam recording everything from the other side. He turned to Sam and jerked his thumb at his kidnappers.

"What's up with them?"

Sam pointed the camera to him for a second. "Oh them? I think they've just experienced a feeling of total and excruciatingly embarrassing loss. And I think that guy might've stood on a tack." Max covered his ears.

"GOOD GOD WILL YOU BOTH SHUT UP!" The bawling just got louder and the short man who was previously trying to think of something to save the situation slumped over and began banging his head on Max's desk. "Hey, stop that! You're gonna get blood all over it…but then again, maybe it'll be a nice touch, continue!" The noise was deafening now, and Sam winced as his sensitive ears were bombarded with the pathetic sounds of grown men weeping.

"You know Max-"

"WHAT?!? YOU'LL HAVE TO TALK LOUDER SAM! MY ADORABLE EARDRUMS ARE BEING SHATTERED BY THEIR WRETCHED SHRIEKING!"

"I SAID, YOU KNOW SAM, I MEAN MAX, THESE GUYS DON'T SEEM ALL THAT BAD! I THINK THAT MAYBE THEY'RE JUST NOT CUT OUT TO BE VILLAINS! BUT DON'T WORRY, I HAVE THE PERFECT JOB FOR THEM!"

"That was great idea making those guys into official GWR judges Sam!"

Sam grinned at Max. "Now they can crush the dreams of dozens of others everyday in some semblance of ironic and spiteful revenge. I think they're checking out the world's longest midget toss today."

Max giggled. "Midget toss?" He gulped down his ice-cream, "I envy them Sam, when do we get to trample the hopes of strange and friendless nerds looking for fifteen minutes of fame?"

"I think we did that last week at the Star Trek convention. Well, I didn't see any dreams, but there was a lot of trampling going on."

"I knew my Clovie costume was the best!"

"I told you Max, Clovie wasn't even in Star Trek."

"Your point?"

Sam shrugged. "None I guess, hey-" he bumped into Max who'd abruptly stopped in his tracks. His ice lolly went all over his shirt. Damn, he'd only washed that last April. "What gives Max?" Max was jumping up and down now, pulling at the bottom of Sam's shirt and pointing to something on their door.

"Look Sam, look!" Sam peered at a notice that has been securely bolted to the door, he frowned.

"Looks like they're closing the offices down Max!" He glanced down the street, "looks like the whole street is being shut down. He read the notice out loud, "'dear residents, the city council has become painfully aware of a giant crack running through an alley on your street. Now normally we'd just ignore it and let you go on with your miserable little lives, but lately all sorts of weird things have been coming out of there, and well, we're sick of it! We're sick of your whole damn street! Pack up your belongings and get the hell out 'cos you can't stay here anymore! P.S. Up yours Sam & Max! HahAHAhaHaHA!' Well, that's not very friendly." He turned to Max who had wondered away halfway through his reading of the notice and had started pestering the drunk pigeons on the broken parking meter.

"Hey Max! Get packing, we're moving back in with Grammy!"

Max clapped his hands together. "Goody!"

Sam smiled, "get going with the packing, I'll ring her, she'll want to hide all the valuables and store a few emergency katanas around the house. And stay out of that alley Max! I saw Hitler crawl out of there the other day."

"I shaved his moustache off Sam! But then he kept screaming at me in German so I locked him in Bosco's freezer with all the expired with the cactus and raw horseflesh ice-cream."

"You're an insidious little brute Max."